


Dirge: Fall

by jynx



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Iron Man (Comic), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Young Avengers
Genre: Brain death, Guilty Steve, Hurt Tony, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Civil War, Tony Feels, after secret invasion, determined avengers, ends before dark reign, i have civil war feels, project wideawake, writer tries to fix civil war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jynx/pseuds/jynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world comes crashing down as Tony tries to fix what he can before his time runs out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirge: Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Betas: Jazzypom, Michikohxd  
>  **Notation** : I wrote this back in December 2008 through sometime in February 2009. Any current similarities to this fic and canon? Yeah, I think Marvel hacked my computer. Or you know, they should hire me because we obviously have similar ideas on how to torture characters and screw over the world.

_Salem, Mass., January 20xx_

 

Billy and Teddy left Harrison's Comic Shop, giddy over their first comic haul since before the Skrull invasion, and went across the street to the cafe that the man at the shop had recommended. It was icily cold, even just crossing the street had the wind slicing through their clothes, and the roads were slick with slush. They got across with Billy only falling once and Teddy being there to catch him.

 

“Hey, look,” Teddy grinned, pointing out a store next to the comic shop as they crossed the square into the chained off section that was used for outdoor seating come the warmer months. “Hex, Old World Witchery. We should stop in there sometime.”

 

Billy smacked Teddy with his bag of comics, “Shut up, you big lug. Do you know how old it's gonna get with you and everyone else on the team making cracks about Salem being the perfect place for me?”

 

Teddy grinned and kissed him, right there in the square, and no one said a word. In fact, a few people simply smiled a little and walked past them. “Mm, probably, but I'm more enjoying the not getting gawked at just for kissing you in public.”

 

Billy had a silly little smile on his face, “Forgiven. I'm _cold_ , so let's get _into_ the cafe, please?”

 

Teddy grinned and held the door open for Billy, “Yes, Billy. Whatever you say, Billy.”

 

“Ugh, don't you dare pull that docile act on me, Theodore Altman,” Billy sighed, stepping into the cafe and tugging his gloves and coat off. “You are anything _but_ docile. C'mon and help me pick a table.”

 

Teddy just grinned and removed his gloves, looking around until something caught his eye. “Hey, wait a sec,” he murmured, looking over at a couple of men playing cards near the windows. “Hey, Billy? Does that look like Mr Stark?”

 

Billy whipped his head around, staring, “Oh my god, it is! I mean, if you take away the scars and lack of facial hair, yeah. I thought he was dead?”

 

“Well, maybe not,” Teddy said, stunned. “Who knows...people change a lot all the time...”

-

_Three years earlier..._

 

It had been two months since Norman Osborn had taken the shot that no one had been able to take, killing the Skrull Queen and becoming the new leader of the United States of America. No, he wasn't the President, but a tiny thing like that was hardly going to stand in his way. He had destroyed every life he got his hands on, and he was gunning for Tony Stark with scary determination.

 

It didn't matter that all the evidence against Stark was contrived, circumstantial, and possibly forged, Osborn had the ear of every important person of power in the world. If he said Stark was planning to negotiate with the Skrulls, that he was corrupt and dangerous, that it was in the world's best interest not to give him any quarter, then that was what they believed. This, however, was not the truth, although only a startling few knew it.

 

But what did it matter when the most powerful man in the world wanted you alive? What did it matter that he was hunting you down, killing any and all supporters? Well, it meant that you run, and keep running, never stopping, always looking over your shoulder, praying you're at least two steps ahead of him. You never want to consider the alternative.

 

~

_Fish District, New York City, NY, October 8 th, 20xx_

 

Maria Hill was dead.

 

She was killed a little over two days ago, shot down by H.A.M.M.E.R. as the two of them were running from their guns. They had been shooting live rounds at Maria and tranquilizer darts at him, which did nothing but confirm what the knot in his stomach already knew – Osborn wanted him alive.

 

That was a terrifying idea, all things considered. If Osborn got his hands on him, he'd have access to the S.H.R.A., the Iron Man technology, Extremis, repulsor tech...everything that would give Osborn the ability to take over the entire world, if he so wanted. It wasn't even a question, now, of Osborn wanting the world, he'd _have_ it, and they'd be more fucked from having that loony tune in power than Red Skull. At least Red Skull had a clear objective; the crazy did not _need_ an objective.

 

Then again, who was _he_ to talk? Here he was, waiting for another crazy to show up, hoping that the man's grudge against Osborn would work in his favor. The problem, Tony knew, was that he couldn't do what needed to be done himself. He and Maria had  had a hard enough time, but could hardly hit what needed to be hit. Deadpool, on the other hand, was exactly what he needed to bring Osborn to his knees.

 

Which, of course, was why he was meeting Deadpool in the Fish District, in the middle of the night when no one was around, in a deserted warehouse, surrounded by dead fish. It was freezing, and the smell was starting to make Tony regret even drinking coffee a couple of hours ago; thank god he hadn't eaten anything at all today or it'd be even worse.

 

“You know, I could turn you in and make a very nice piece of change,” a low, rough voice said from the dark behind Tony, pulling him out of his thoughts. Hunh, Cable was right. The man _did_ have a very Demi Moore-esque voice.

 

Tony didn't even flinch, “I have a better deal for you that would pay more money than anything Osborn has to offer.”

 

“I'm listening.”

 

“I know that Osborn interfered in the job Fury hired you for and that you didn't get paid,” Tony said, turning slowly. He was right to do so; Deadpool had gun and sword trained on him. “What I want to know, before I make my offer, is how much do you hate Norman Osborn?”

 

“Osborn is _mine_ ,” came the deadly hiss. “ _Mine_ to hate, _mine_ to destroy, _mine_ to kill.”

 

“What if I could make sure you'd be able to get him? I have the means to bring him to his knees, but I need _you_ to do it.”

 

“Because you're public enemy numero uno,” Deadpool grinned as he flicked the safety off on his gun, holstering it on his hip before sheathing his sword on his back with ease. “I'm not cheap.”

 

“Three billion,” Tony said flatly. “I'll pay for the explosives and provide you with everything you need on top of that.” Deadpool's jaw dropped and was stunned into silence for once. “Don't tell me I made the legendary 'Merc with a Mouth' speechless. Damn, my life's work is complete!”

 

“ _Three_ billion?” Deadpool repeated, stunned. “Do you _know_ what I could buy with three billion?”

 

“Lots of guns?” Tony said, hands in his pockets, a small smile on his face. The smell of rotting fish carcasses couldn't even affect him right now; this was going perfectly.

 

“I could buy fucking _Fort Knox_!”

 

“Probably,” Tony agreed with a shrug. “Is the fee agreeable?”

 

“Agreeable? Fuck agreeable! Holy shit, throw me down and fuck me silly, I'm _yours_!” Deadpool shouted, throwing his arms out wide in a classic “take me!” display.

 

Tony laughed helplessly, feeling real amusement for the first time in months. “No, thank you. So, now that we're agreed on the fee, would you like to know the job?”

 

Deadpool stretched, “Go for it, my golden boy, my money man, my man with the plan, my sugar daddy, my--”

 

“That's enough,” Tony grinned, making a shushing motion at Deadpool. “I want to narrow the field for Osborn, take away all the spots he could be hiding and give him one place left to go to ground.”

 

“Can do, Sugar Daddy,” Deadpool grinned; the smile had a bloodthirsty tint that showed even through the man's mask.

 

Tony was too amused to stop Deadpool's inane naming. “I want to blow up every building he owns, that he took from me, until he only has the Tower left. This also means the Helicarrier.”

 

“You tell me how to get in and out and gimme the C4?”

 

“As much C4 as you need to blow every thing. There are two conditions to this job, though.”

 

“Knew there was a catch,” Deadpool grumped. “See, white box? See? I _told_ you it was too good to be true. Next time, I'm just gonna listen to the yellow box. Such a freakin' traitor, white box.”

 

Tony ignored the rambles, “We do it at night, and you stay with me. I'll give you everything you need for each job before it's done. I don't want any more blood on my hands than I already have.”

 

“And you want _me_ to keep _you_ safe.” Deadpool was obviously doubting Tony's sanity; that was okay, though, Tony was doubting his own sanity too. Apparently, it was one of the first things to go.

 

“I'll add another billion if you want,” Tony said, not denying the accusation. Deadpool's jaw dropped again and Tony simply walked over and closed it for him with a forefinger. “Help me destroy it all and I promise, you can have the kill shot on Osborn.”

 

“ _Perfect_ ,” came the pleased drawl with a malicious smile.

 

~

 

_New York City, NY, October 8 th, 20xx_

“Thank you for finding me, Dr Strange,” Wanda murmured, sipping the tea that Wong had brewed for her. “I know I'm not exactly deserving of a second chance, but thank you, all the same.”

“I found you for two reasons, Wanda,” Dr Strange said, his useless hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe. “One, I am no longer able to be the Sorcerer Supreme and I would like you to attend to the title.”

Wanda looked up, startled, “Doctor! I am _hardly_ the best candidate.” She hesitated and set her tea aside, wrapping shaking hands around her elbows, hugging herself tightly. “I have made so many bad mistakes, _lethal_ mistakes. There _must_ be someone else.”

“Two,” Dr Strange continued, “I need your help to see those paths which are open to us.”

Wanda nodded slowly, “I no longer have my powers over reality, Doctor. I am merely a witch now.”

Dr Strange smiled absently, “I know, my child. Come, assist me.”

Wanda nodded slowly and stood, crossing the room to help Dr Strange to his feet. However, before she could assist him, the temperature in the room dropped and the sharpness faded as the light dimmed to focus on the Orb of Agamotto as it flared with a blinding pink light. A voice, disembodied and sounding older than the Earth, rumbled deeply throughout the room:

“There are two paths Open before You. One Path holds much Death and Pain, although Hope still beats Strong for there are Two a Messiah and a Patriot to fight for Righteousness. However, the Other Path holds Fear, Death, and Much Calamity, for there is No Redemption for the Twisted Souls who Destroy all that is Good.”

Slowly, the Orb dimmed as light and warmth was returned to the room. Wanda, startled, turned to look at Dr Strange, who was pale with fright.

“Doctor?” Wanda asked, shaken to the core of her being. She had seen and heard the Orb as well, and had little idea as to what it all meant.

“They would never... Not unless it was a matter of great importance.” He paused, letting the words of the Living Tribunal fully sink in. “A Patriot,” Strange echoed. “We need Captain America. We need Steve Rogers.”

~

 _Stark Tower_ , _October 10 th, 20xx_

Norman Osborn looked out the windows of Avengers Tower and waited, hands clasped behind his back, as his assistant showed in Luke Cage. He considered himself a patient man, but after two months of hunting and no sign of Tony Stark, he was done waiting.

It was time to bring in the big guns.

This particular gun went by the name of Luke Cage, and Osborn had a very convincing proposition for him. “Mister Cage,” Osborn said slowly, pronouncing each syllable carefully. “We have found your daughter. The Skrull has been dealt with.”

“Can I see her?” Cage asked, relief evident in his voice. _Fool_.

“Of course,” Osborn said, turning and gifting Cage with a slow smile. “Right after you do me one tiny, little, insignificant favor. Bring me Tony Stark, _alive_ , and you can walk out of here with your daughter, a free man. _However_ ,” he said, voice icy, “if he is not brought back _alive_ , I will drop your daughter off the roof of this very tall building. Are I clear?”

The pain in Cage's eyes was absolutely delectable, “Crystal.”

 

~

_October 29 th, 20xx_

_We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news._

_We have late breaking news that Thunderbolt Mountain, home of the super villain turned superhero Thunderbolts, has fallen victim of  a terrorist attack. The surrounding area of Coyote Springs, Colorado has been spared, but we are receiving reports that the mountain has been completely destroyed. No one knows at this time if anyone has survived the explosion. It is believed that the Thunderbolts were at home resting with staff on hand when the mountain blew. The cause has yet to be identified and no organization has yet taken credit for this attack at this time. More details as the story develops._

~

_Location Unknown, October 29 th, 20xx_

 

Tony watched the news report on the piece of junk TV provided in the run down, roach infested motel he and Deadpool had shacked up in. The thing was ten inches, in black and white, and the picture kept flickering in and out. Tony would hardly have been surprised if there were bunny ears for the outdated scrap, but there weren't.

 

“I'm surprised you're not lecturing me,” Deadpool said as he cleaned his guns. “Didn't you say you wanted to minimize deaths?”

 

“They don't count,” Tony said softly.

 

“They don't?” Deadpool asked; Tony could see the eyebrow raised behind the mask. “Jeez, aren't you supposed to the good guy?”

 

Tony turned the volume on the TV up, feeling just a little dead inside. “Am I?”

 

~

_Avengers Tower, NY October 29 h, 20xx_

Osborn stared at the news anchor on the screen as she reported the destruction of the Mountain. _His_ Mountain. How _dare_ they come after him? Didn't they know who he _was_? He had saved the entire _world_ from those festering aliens, saved them all from a life of slavery!

And yet, this is how they repaid him. They allowed this, this... _terrorist_ to target him and to kill those he had instructed to _help_ the plebeians. This could not be allowed to continue. He _must_ remain in control; after all, this was _his_ world now. He was in control, and everyone in the _world_ owed him their lives.

Yes, he would solve this himself. Narrowing his eyes, he turned the flat screen off and turned to his assistant with a confident smile.

“Ms Hand, summon my Avengers. I have a job for them.”

~

_October 30 th, 20xx_

_And now we go to our White House correspondent, Jim White. Jim, what can you tell us about the news coming out of Capital Hill? Is it true that President Bush's plea to Congress was approved?_

_Well, Amy, that's the thing. No one expected Congress to approve Bush's demand that the election be stayed because of the latest terrorist attacks on American soil. But, they did, and Capital Hill is buzzing with what this might mean for the future of America. The last time this happened was during World War II, but this is hardly a war. For the terms of Bush's continued presidency, Congress only said that Bush will stay in office only to see these terrorist actions through to the end._

_Thanks, Jim. For more information on Congress's decision, please visit our web site at..._

~

_New York City, NY October 31 st, 20xx_

“But, Doctor!” Wanda protested, chasing after a quickly moving Strange, “The Captain  is _dead_. You haven't told me how you plan on bringing him back! _Can_ you bring him back? Isn't that...wrong? And against the rules?”

Strange laughed softly, “My dear, yes, it is wrong. We are not allowed to tamper with the living or the dead. _Especially_ not the dead. However, we need him alive. Sometimes, Wanda, the rules were made to be broken. This spell, however, requires much power and I have only little. It will cost me my life.”

Wanda tugged on his shoulder, stopping him, a determined look on her face. “Tell me what I can do to help you, Doctor. Please, I want to help.”

“You can help by becoming the next Sorcerer Supreme. You have been chosen to replace me, my child,” Strange said kindly. “You have passed on the powers the Agent of Chaos bestowed upon you and the Living Tribunal have appeared to you. You _are_ the next Sorcerer Supreme.”

Wanda stopped, hands flying to her mouth, “No! Doctor, I _can't_. That...that has always been you. I... you need to help me! I've so many terrible mistakes!”

Strange smiled tiredly at her, “Wanda, my dear, no one is ever really ready for that which Destiny thrusts upon them. I wish there had been more time for me to instruct you in the Mystic Arts, but you must learn them for yourself. Now, please, wait until the rite is done.”

“How will I know?”

“You will know,” Strange smiled, leaning forward and kissing her on the forehead before entering his Sanctum one last time.

~

_Bronx, New York, November 1 st, 20xx_

Wanda helped support the weight of the man walking with her, cloaked and dazed.

“Where are we going again?” Steve asked, voice hoarse with disuse.

“To the Avengers,” Wanda said softly, taking his hand in hers. “They have people there who can help you. They can explain what you have missed.”

“And you can't?”

Wanda smiled as they walked through the illusionary brick wall that shielded Steve's loft from unintended intruders. Knowing the Avengers as she did, Wanda was sure that they had already tripped some sort of perimeter alarm. “I have been out of touch for a long time, Steve. Longer than you.”

“Since Clint and Scott and Jack?” Steve asked, his arm tightening around her shoulders.

“Yes,” Wanda said regretfully. “Your Avengers will help you far more than I am able.”

The door was yanked open as Wanda reached for the nob, reveling Clint standing in the door, armed and in full costume, except for Clint's hood.

“What's the meaning of this?” Clint demanding sharply, sword drawn and in between him, Wanda, and Steve.

Steve stared at them tiredly, “Hunh, you got better, too. Is that Bobbi back there? Hey, long time no see! So, what next? Is Scott or Jack there? How 'bout Thor? Haven't seen him in ages. Think he's got any mead?”

Clint eyed Wanda warily, “He's out of his mind, isn't he?” He sheathed his sword at his hip, having decided that neither of them posed any sort of threat. Indeed, how could they? It was all Wanda could do to support the Captain.

Taking Clint's action as an invitation, Wanda smiled as she handed off Steve to him. “Dr Strange traded his life for the Captain's last night. Please, take care of him. He needs rest, and to let the knowledge of being back sink into him mind.”

“Doc Strange is _dead_?” Clint stared, dumbfounded, wrapping an arm around Steve's waist in support as he walked backwards into the apartment, letting Wanda standing just inside the doorway. “Why?”

“Because he believed,” Wanda said, patiently. “Please, don't let that belief be in vain. Steps will be taken to assure it, but the Captain _needs_ to be alive and in the fight.” She couldn't let them know what she and Strange had heard. It would raise too many questions and they would demand answers, answers that she didn't have.

“What fight?” Clint demanded with a scowl, a protective look on his face. “Guy just came back to life. He doesn't need no one deciding his life for him!”

“Why are there so many people in my apartment?” Steve asked, head tilting back to looked at everyone. “And its all upside down. Hey! Is that Bucky? James! Ole buddy, ole pal!”

Bucky came over, not looking terribly surprised to see Steve alive once more, “He's drugged, isn't he? How much you give him? _What_ did you give him? I haven't seen him this out of it since Fury decided to get him drunk during the war.”

Steve grinned obliviously, “Hey, is Jim gonna get better next? How 'bout Toro? Could have the whole gang back together again! If Subby can get the stick outta his ass first.”

Bucky choked back his laughter and shook his head, “Clint, why don't you let me take care of him? Make Steve get to bed before he says anything else he's going to regret when he's aware of what he's saying.”

“We should get Fury a French prostitute!” Steve laughed cheerfully, drawing everyone's attention to him. “It's only _fair_ and I'm pretty sure it's _someone's_ birthday!” By this point, Steve was well on his way to slurring his words from exhaustion. Clint had handed the Captain off to Bucky, who gave a long sigh and started half-pulling, half-dragging Steve to a bedroom to sleep it off.

“Too late,” Clint grinned, calling after them. “Maybe we should see what else he'll spill.”

Bobbi, who had been watching from the sidelines, gave her husband's arm a hard smack, “Clint Barton. _Behave_.”

 

Clint gave her a sheepish smile, rubbing his arm, as Wanda smiled and leaned forward, kissing Clint's cheek. “Take care of the Captain,” she said, pausing. “And my children.”

He watched her warily for a second, before nodding, “They can take of themselves, Wanda,” he said grudgingly. “But we'll keep an eye out for them. You have my word.”

 

“Where are you off to?” Bobbi asked, standing next to her husband.

“Genosha,” Wanda said simply, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I need to get it ready for everyone.”

“Get it ready?” Bobbi echoed. “Wanda, ready for what?”

“The Exodus,” Wanda smiled sadly, stepping forward to kiss Bobbi's cheek. “You'll see. We'll be there for everyone, me and Genosha both.”

Clint nodded and Wanda stepped out the door, ready to leave when someone collided with her back, holding her tight.

“Mom!” came the tear-choked voice. “Don't go, _please_! I-I need to talk to you! There's so _much_ \--”

Wanda smiled and turned, wrapping her arms around Billy. “Another time, darling. Right now is not the proper time.”

Billy looked up at her, brown eyes swimming in tears. “ _When_?” he asked, holding her tighter. “We've been looking for you for so long!”

Wanda kissed the top of his head and soothingly rubbed his back. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Teddy Altman lurking protectively in the shadows. She smiled at him and he came closer, touching the small of Billy's back lightly, letting him know he was there for him if needed.

“When you come to Genosha, with the Avengers,” Wanda said, pulling away a little and brushing his hair back. “It will take time, but when you come, it will be there to stay. All right?”

Billy gave her a mulish look, one she'd so often seen on her brother's face, “Promise?”

Wanda smiled and kissed his forehead, “I promise.”

“I'm not going to get any better than that, am I?” Billy asked wistfully, face wetly streaked with drying tears.

Wanda chuckled softly, “No, baby, you're not. Not now, at least.”

Billy nodded and reluctantly pulled away, “I'll hold you to that promise, Mom.”

Wanda tapped his nose teasingly, “I know you will. Good-bye for now, Billy. Tell your brother to behave, and that I look forward to meeting his girlfriend _and_ his boyfriend.”

Billy blinked, “Hunh? But... Tommy doesn't _have_ a boyfriend _or_ a girlfriend!”

Wanda smiled and left, enjoying the idea of her two boys wrecking havoc on each other. It was only right; after all, that's what twins did.

_~_

_Avengers Headquarters, November 2 nd, 20xx_

Steve sat at the end of his bed, head in his hands.

This wasn't right. _He_ wasn't right.

He had died, not of natural causes, but because he had been killed. Still, dead was dead. The dead should not come back to life, not like this. Not at the cost of his friend's life. Strange had been more Tony's friend than his, and their friendship had been awkward at best, but still. No one deserved to die so another could live.

He'd been alive, again, for three days. One day had been spent actually making sure he was all right and in one piece, and wasn't about to die again. Once that had been assured, Wanda had returned him to the Avengers. He....wasn't sure how to act around them anymore. All of them showed signs of wear and tear, signs that things were only that much worse since he had died.

What could possibly be worse? A friend was dead, and he was alive.

~

_Bronx, NY November 3 rd, 20xx_

Steve sat at the kitchen table (which was new. He hadn't had one before, even though Tony had insisted he get one) and rubbed his forehead, trying to take in all the information that Clint, Bucky, and Peter were relaying. They had contacted Hank a few hours ago, but the man was out with Jocasta on patrol with his Avengers and had promised to be there as soon as he possibly could. Since _when_ did _Hank Pym_ have his own Avengers team?

“Skrulls invaded,” Steve said slowly. “The _Skrulls_ invaded, took out _how_ many of us, and Jan died.”

Clint sighed, “Yeah, they did. We still haven't found all of them, to add insult to injury.

 

“You haven't said a word about what Tony's been up to,” Steve said, looking up at Clint accusingly. Clint _knew_ about them, having walked in on them one too many times, and he expected Clint to be unbiased when relaying information.

“No one knows where he is right now,” Peter said miserably. “Course, I don't blame him. If I had Osborn gunning for me, I'd be hiding too.”

Steve sat up straight, startled, “ _Osborn_? _Green Goblin_ Osborn? Why is _he_ after Tony?”

Clint hesitated and sat down across from Steve, slouching in his chair, “Long version or short version?”

“Short,” Steve growled.

Bucky was leaning against the wall, sipping his coffee sludge and started in on a quick explanation of Tony being the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. (“It's now H.A.M.M.E.R., and no, it didn't stand for anything.”) and how that had gone. It lead into how he apparently didn't take the kill shot on the Skrull Queen (“Which Tony never had a chance of getting anyway, not with his armor shut down like that!”), and how the public was currently using him as a scapegoat while the government elected Osborn into the position of Commander (“Not Director, the bastard changed that! God, I bet Fury's _pissed_.”). Steve rubbed his forehead, pained. It was almost too much to take in all at once.

“No one is helping him?” Steve asked slowly, stunned. “Hank--”

“Would love to see him _dead_ for what he's done,” Hank said, coming into the kitchen, still dressed in a bastardized version of Jan's old Wasp costume. “Sorry, I just got here and heard your conversation.”

“ _Why_?” Steve growled, looking up at Hank angrily. “He's your _friend_ , Hank!”

“I've been gone _two years_ , Steve,” Hank said defensively. “The Tony Stark I met at Jan's funeral is _not_ my friend. Thor refuses to even _talk_ to him. Have you heard what he's _done_?”

“I know,” Steve said softly. “Thor asked me once, while I was dead, if I wanted justice from Tony. I'll tell you exactly what I told him: There's been too much pain and death because of what happened that day. I will _not_ add to it.”

Hank pulled back, startled at the vehemence in Steve's voice. “Steve, I--”

“I don't care what grudge you hold against him,” Steve said, deathly quiet, but with no less fury, “but if you plan to stay my friend, to fight alongside me, then you best forget it. I will _not_ have it. Am. I. Understood?”

Hank set his jaw and stood straighter, “Yes.”

Steve sat back down, fight to calm himself as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I want him found.”

“You and the rest of the world,” Peter said, looking a little scared. Steve didn't blame him; no one had ever seen him lose his temper like that besides Tony. “He's public enemy number one, Cap. Finding him is going to be a problem.”

“Where's Luke?” Steve frowned, looking around. Something had been bugging him and he finally had a name for it. “I haven't seen him yet.”

Peter's face went carefully blank, “No one knows.”

Steve watched Peter, weighing him. “You know.”

Peter hesitated, then nodded, “Yeah, I know. I think he's working for Osborn. He's been in and out of the Tower whenever the creep has been there.”

 

Clint frowned at Peter, “Does _Jessica_ know about this?”

 

Peter shrugged, scratching at his mask uncomfortably.

Steve groaned, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face, “Find him, Peter. Follow him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.”

“On it,” Peter said, leaving the room quickly. The tension was probably making him nervy. Hell, it was making Steve want to find some scumbag and punch them until they wouldn't get up. When had the world gone so mad?

Bucky continued to be a solid presence behind Steve, sipping his coffee sludge, while Hank radiated carefully restrained anger and Clint frowned thoughtfully. “So,” Steve said, drawing a deep breath, “what else have I missed?”

“Tony's killing himself,” came a soft female voice from behind them.

All four men turned, startled, to see Pepper Potts standing in the kitchen entrance. Pepper looked exhausted – thin, pale, and tired – and there was a blue glow...

“Pepper,” Steve said softly, standing and coming toward her, touching the light muffled by her blouse. “What happened?”

Pepper tried to talk several times as tears slid down her face before pulling Steve into a hug and crying on him. Steve bent so he was closer to her height and held her, rubbing her back soothingly, waiting for  everything to work its way out of her system. Only once she had seemed to compose herself did he lead her over to his abandoned chair. Pepper sat, fishing a tissue out of her handbag and dabbing at her eyes before blowing her nose.

“Pepper,” Steve said, kneeling in front of her, “do you think you could tell me what you meant by that? How is Tony killing himself?”

Pepper nodded and swallowed a few times, accepting the glass of water Clint had poured for her. “Extremis made Tony a fancy walking computer,” she started. “So, he ended up putting everything in his brain. Every Stark trick and trade secret since his father's day, every state secret he ever knew about until they kicked him out as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., every bit of information on the Iron Man armors and repulsor technology... the Super Human Registration database, all of it is stored in his mind.”

“My god,” Hank breathed softly. “No wonder Osborn wants his hands on Tony.”

“Before he left S.H.I.E.L.D., Tony programmed the S.H.R.A. database that if anyone accessed it illegally, it would wipe it clean and crash any computers online at the time. The only copy of the S.H.R.A. database left is in Tony's head,” Pepper continued, sipping her water before setting it aside with a shaky hand. “He was terrified that that … _man_ would figure it out and come after him. So, he began a sort of Doomsday program to wipe his brain completely.”

Hank went pale, “Brain death.”

 

Clint swore vividly and creatively. Even Bucky winced and set down his mug of coffee sludge.

Pepper nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks once more. “He keyed it so that Maria Hill and I were the only two who could activate it. He tricked Maria into it and I... I did it willingly. There's no other way to stop Osborn from getting this information!”

Steve was too stunned to speak; he could only kneel there in shock. Tony had...

“He turned Stark Enterprises over to me, to put the company down with some dignity. It's gone now, bought off by everyone who's ever had a grudge against Tony. Trade secrets, technology, _everything_ ,” Pepper said, openly crying now. “Everything we ever helped him build, the future we all hoped would be so bright is gone.”

“And he's killing himself to make sure Osborn doesn't get his hands on it,” Steve said slowly, his anger building. “ _Dammit_ , Tony, killing yourself is never the answer.”

“It's the only answer he could come up with that would make everyone happy and keep the information out of Osborn's hands!” Pepper snapped, glaring accusingly at the amassed heroes in Steve's kitchen. “He had _no one_ to turn to, no one to ask for help or an alternative idea.”

“That is not my fault,” Steve protested softly. “This isn't anyone's fault, Pepper.”

“Then _whose_?” Pepper demanded angrily. “Do you know what it did to him, fighting you? He _begged_ you to stop! _Begged_ , Steve, and you _didn't_. Why?”

Steve took a deep breath and stood, “I believed we were doing the right thing.”

“You were _wrong_.”

Clint was watching them both warily, “I don't think either of them were right, Pepper. It's not something _one_ person can decide for the entire super hero community.”

Pepper got to her feet, “Well, congratulations. Tony's worst case scenario is happening, and he's not here to stop it. He's too busy trying to stop the fallout from the Invasion.” She turned to Steve, squaring her shoulders, “He told you about Project Wideawake?”

“Yes,” Steve said slowly, wondering where she was going with this. “I'll tell you what I told him: they wouldn't dare try and put it into practice.”

Pepper withdrew a thick manila folder from her bag and tossed it on the table, “I'm _so_ glad you've developed prescience along with all those rippling muscles, but I'm afraid the rest of the world hasn't  gotten the memo. Deal with it, Captain, _you were wrong_.”

Bucky cleared his throat, “Do you need a taxi, Ms Potts?” He was putting a stop to the conversation before it got out of hand.

“No, I'll be fine on my own,” Pepper said. “It's not like there's anyone waiting for me any more anyway.”

Steve frowned and touched her shoulder gently, “Pepper, I never got the chance to say how sorry I am about Happy.”

Pepper looked at him, back ramrod straight, but it was the tremble in her lip that gave her away. “Thank you, Steve.”

“We are looking for Tony,” he added, gently squeezing her shoulder. “If there's anything we can do, for you or him, we will do it. I promise.”

“Tony will be dead a week after he triggers the final sequence,” Pepper said softly. “He's already got mine, and Maria's. All that's left is his.”

Steve nodded, taking the statement as what it was – a warning that they were running out of time. “Take care of yourself, Pepper. Don't hesitate to call me if you need help.”

Pepper bit back a nasty retort and nodded, starting toward the door, only to have Clint stand and take her around the waist to escort her out. They were talking softly, too softly for Steve to hear, but he was otherwise occupied.

Brain death. Tony was going to kill himself, for the sake of the entire world, to keep the information he knew and had stored in his mind out of the hands of a lunatic. Somehow, it made everything they had been fighting about, and over, seem like child's play. Looking over at the table, Steve picked up one of the documents Pepper had thrown down.

Project Wideawake... They wouldn't, _would_ they?

~

_November 8 th, 20xx_

_We interrupt this broadcast to bring you breaking news. There has been another terrorist attack, this time at Stamford, Connecticut at Camp Hammond. Camp Hammond was built outside the town that lead to the Superheroes Civil War. As far as we can tell, no one was injured. More information as we receive it._

 

~

_Baltimore, MD November 18 th, 20xx_

_10pm_

The spider tracker Peter had slipped into Luke's left shoe two weeks ago led him to Baltimore, where the Helicarrier was currently hovering. If Luke was tracking Tony, what was Tony tracking? Peter looked down at the tracer in his hand to check where the signal was originating from and frowned; it was coming from a hotel room. Making sure to stick to the shadows, Peter crept up the Lord Baltimore Hotel and peered in each room between floors five, six, and seven. The seventh floor, near the corner, was where Tony and Luke were.

 

There was shouting, which Peter unfortunately couldn't hear, and didn't that just figure? Hotel walls were ridiculously thin, but the walls from inside to outside were soundproofed. Cheap ass hotels, cutting corners where they could. Peter resigned himself to being unable to know what was going on in there and pulled out his Avenger's comm.

 

“Hey, Cap?” Peter tried, flicking it on.

 

“Go ahead, Peter,” Cap's voice crackled out. Peter fought down his groan; he'd fried another comm. Great.

 

“Found Luke,” Peter said, keeping an eye on the two arguing in the room. “He found Tony. They're in Baltimore.”

 

“ _Baltimore_?” Cap asked, incredulous. “Why would Tony be in Baltimore?”

 

“The Helicarrier's here?” Peter tried, thinking of possible reasons.

 

“You suggesting he's the terrorist?” Cap asked, obviously amused.

 

“Not exactly,” Peter said softly, still watching them. “They're just arguing now. I'll let you know if anything else happens.”

 

“Roger that. Don't do anything, Peter, no matter what. Just watch. Captain America out.”

 

Peter grinned, tucking the comm back in his belt. Cap really liked his radio protocol way too much. Least they hadn't started in with the numbers and the acronyms the Police always used. Or the military used, though with Cap, that might not be too far of a reach. Tony had always joked that Cap was the reason SNAFU and FUBAR had been invented. There'd been some long, complicated answer about the origins of the words that had one originating in 1941 and the other in 1944. Cap had ignored Tony, even if he'd been smiling.

 

Something behind Peter exploded loudly, causing him to almost fall off of his wall in shock. Turning and flattening himself to the wall, he watched with wide eyes as part by part, the Helicarrier continued to explode. Peter had seen footage of the Hindenburg incident and watching the Helicarrier as it slowly rapidly began falling into the Harbor was like watching the old footage come to frightening life.

 

There was silence, as if everyone had been put on mute for a solid three minutes before the mute was taken off and the volume turned way up. Down below, people started rushing about in terror and panic. However, he was not here to figure out who had blown the Helicarrier to kingdom come. He was here to track Luke and Tony, and if possible, bring both of them to the Avengers.

 

Peeking back into the room, Peter really wished he hadn't. Luke had Tony shoved up against the wall by his throat, a good foot or two off the ground. Luke was yelling as Tony scrabbled at Luke's hand for breath, and then Luke punched him. Peter believed the proper, terrifying, term for it was “boxing his ears.” Peter could only stare in horror as Luke released Tony's throat, letting the man crumple to the ground, before kicking him fiercely in the chest.

 

Luke wasn't holding back.

 

Peter watched as Luke continued beating Tony, feeling sick to his stomach the entire time. Was this what they had become? Was this what the New Avengers had been reduced to? He wasn't deluding himself – if he'd been the one to get his hands on Tony after everything, there probably would been a punch and yelling, but nothing more. Certain not enough to actually hurt him, not like Luke was doing.

 

Peter watched with a dull sense of horror as Luke smashed Tony's head against the wall, rendering the older man unconscious, and leaving a nice blood stain on the hotel's wallpaper, before grabbing a pair of handcuffs and securing him. Luke reached into his back pocket and called someone and not too long after, a squad of H.A.M.M.E.R. showed up to haul Tony out of there. Peter kept himself low and close to the wall, grabbing his communicator and calling Cap once more:

 

“They have him,” Peter said, voice shaky. He didn't feel good, having watched that and not having done anything. But that's not what he was supposed to do. He was told to keep out of it. “Cap, I... Tony's hurt bad. Luke really hurt him.”

 

“Luke wouldn't--” Cap began.

 

“He damned near put him through the hotel wall!” Peter said, ashamed to see himself hiccuping from repressing his distress. “Those walls might be thin but they're _hard,_ Cap! We...we gotta get him out of there. Luke gave him to H.A.M.M.E.R.; they're gonna give him to Osborn.”

 

Cap was silent for a very long time and Peter used the time to calm himself. “Keep following him, Peter. Keep out of sight.”

 

Peter nodded, swallowing thickly and still hiccuping, “Got it, Cap.” He tucked the communicator in his belt and swung down to follow Luke and the H.A.M.M.E.R. thugs, praying they'd get Tony back with, hopefully, very little damage. He was so wrapped up in his own mind he didn't notice the man in the costume on the motorcycle, slowly following the same unmarked black van as Peter.

 

~

_Stark Tower, New York City, NY November 19 th, 20xx_

_9:58pm_

Tony was thrust to his knees in front of Osborn, who stood there and _smirked_ at him. Luke Cage was behind him, effectively cutting off the majority of his escape routes. Fuck. He was well and truly screwed, but there was one thing he could do that they couldn't stop: trigger the final sequence that would destroy every bit of information in his brain.

“We had a deal,” Cage said, voice tight. Tony's eyes settled on Osborn's assistant who was holding baby Danielle. “You get Stark, I get my daughter.”

Tony snorted softly, shaking his head. “Impenetrable skin must extend to your _brain_ , Cage,” he sneered.

Cage reached down and grabbed Tony sharply by the hair, growling, “Time to pay for your _crimes_ , Stark. The world will be better off without you.”

Tony snarled, “You actually think that maniac is going to give you your kid back, Luke? He's got you, and he's not going to let you go just because you brought me to him.”

Cage thrust Tony forward, letting go of his hair, “I want my daughter, Osborn.”

“Not yet, not yet,” Osborn said testily. “I want to make sure what I need is there.”

“You mean the Super Human Registration Database?” Tony said, smirking up at Osborn. “That's gone, sorry. So's every Iron Man design I had, the blue print for Extremis, repulsor technology, everything. It's all gone, Osborn. Did you _really_ think I wouldn't make sure you couldn't get your hands on that information, even if you did manage to capture me? Damn, you really _are_ an idiot.”

“ _SHUT UP_ ,” Osborn roared, stalking forward and hauling Tony to his feet by his throat. “I AM IN CHARGE HERE.”

“Not what it looks like to me,” Tony croaked out from around Osborn's hands. “You've got nothing left. I made sure of it.”

“ _You_ ,” Osborn hissed, letting Tony go and backing away from him. “It was _you_.”

Tony fell to his knees, hand going to his throat, rubbing as he coughed, “Damned straight it was me, you goddamned loony tune. I made sure you only had one place to go to ground, one place where I could nail you down.”

“So much for the world's _savior_ ,” Osborn snarled, coming closer and grabbing Tony's hair, pulling him up close, face to face. “You wanted to use it all for good, but you can't. You _can't_. You _failed_. I _succeeded_ where _you_ _failed_. I am the savior! I am in charge!”

Tony caught the look of horror on Cage's face and felt the vicious stab of satisfaction wash over him; yeah, that's right, you sick son of a bitch, you were _wrong_ and now everyone's going to pay for your mistake. Osborn threw Tony against his desk and watched coldly as Tony slumped against the floor with a soft groan.

“I want it,” Osborn said, voice eerily calm. “You are going to give me every single name in that database.”

Tony smirked up at him, “No, I won't.”

“Yes, you will.”

Tony slowly got to his feet, back straight and head held high. “Osborn, you might be certifiable, but you don't scare me. Especially since in a few minutes, this Tower will go up just like your precious Helicarrier. Did you enjoy watch it burn? I believe the entire controlling faction of H.A.M.M.E.R. was on board, right, besides you and your lovely assistant here and what, four men?”

Osborn's face twisted in anger.

“So, accept it. You've been blamed for getting your Thunderbolts killed, for Camp Hammond, for your place in Chelsea Pier, the Helicarrier, _everything_ ,” Tony taunted. “You can't start from where I end, Osborn, not unless you take what ended me.”

Osborn snarled in fury, stalking over to his desk and grabbing a letter opener, “You shut up. I am in charge! _I AM IN CHARGE_! You will not humiliate me again!” Osborn grabbed him and threw him against the window, thrusting the letter opener into his stomach and trying to drag it to the side as if it were a dagger. Tony shouted in pain, clutching his side as blood started to slowly seep out between his fingers.

Cage stepped forward and grabbed Osborn, jerking the letter opener out of Tony's body, “Oy! That's _enough_ you psychotic nut job!”

Osborn snarled in fury, trying to slash at Cage with the bloody letter opener. Tony leaned back against the window, keeping his hand tight against the wound to keep it from bleeding too much. He had been wearing one of Steve's old white shirts, ruined now with the blood slowly blossoming around his hand, and goddamn did it _hurt_... and why the hell wasn't the Tower exploding?

~

_One Building West from Stark Tower, New York City, NY November 19_ _th, 20xx_

_Night_

 

_“There's a high possibility of me getting captured,” Tony said, helping to pack the C4 Deadpool would need for the Helicarrier._

_“No shit, Sherlock,” Deadpool snorted, packing it down as well. He was going to need a_ lot _to get the carrier to go down like he wanted. “Dig deeper, Watson.”_

_Tony chuckled, “Cute. My point is, if everything goes right, as it should, Osborn will have no where left to go_ but _the Tower.”_

_“That's the plan,” Deadpool said, watching as Tony carefully handled the theremite, packing it into several tiny canvas bags. He wasn't sure how the man got his hands on the theremite, but damn. This was gonna be one_ awesome _display of fire_. _“But, well, you know. Mice, men, pots, kettles.”_

_“He will have no where else to go,” Tony continued. “Once they grab me and take me there, I want you to plant the explosives that are in the sub-basement under the Tower. You have the codes, so you'll have no problem getting in there. Before you blow it, drain the network onto a hard drive. I've got a ten terabyte one you can use, it'll be sitting next to the servers. Drain it, give it to Fury.”_

_Deadpool nodded, “Anything else, Boss Man?”_

_“If someone shows up to grab me, don't interfere. I_ want _Osborn to get me when this is complete. However, if I'm in the Tower longer than thirty minutes, blow it. Think you can do that?”_

_Deadpool gave him a flat look, “Who do I look like,_ Spider-Man _? Of_ course _I can do that. One problem, Money Man.”_

_Tony gave him a tiny smile, sitting back, hands covered in the red-orange of the theremite. “Your money.”_

_“If I blow you, I blow my money, don't I?”_

_“I've set up an account for you in the Caymans, the whole four billion,” Tony said smoothly. “I'll give you the account number when your job is complete.”_

_“Again, I blow, you die,_ money, _” Deadpool hissed, drawing his gun. He flicked the safety off and pointed it at Tony._

_Tony tilted his head to the side, seemingly completely fine with having a gun pointed at his head, “I won't die.”_

_“Liar.”_

_“Just trust me, all right?” Tony said with a small smile. “I won't. We'll meet at the Avengers Mansion after everything. If I die, Pepper can give you the account number. But it won't be necessary because I won't die.”_

_“Su-re you won't,” Deadpool sighed. So much for that four bil..._

“Money Man better be right about this,” Deadpool grumbled. It had been 35 minutes, actually, and mostly because Deadpool had had a hell of a time grabbing all the information off the server that looked like it could nail Osborn on an upside-down cross. They were going to destroy the man, expose him for the creep he really was. It kinda made Deadpool tingle... But he was reluctant to trigger the explosives. “Oh, fuck this shit.”

He pressed the trigger and watched the Tower explode into flames, decimating the foundation structure. From the light of the flames, Deadpool could just see a man falling, only to be caught by Spider-Man as he swung down on his webs.

“Well,” Deadpool chuckled, sitting back to watch the fireworks, “slap me silly and call me Bea Arthur.”

~

_One Building West of Stark Tower, New York City, NY November 19 th, 20xx_

_Night_

Peter watched, clinging to the skyscraper's windows, as Stark Tower started to explode. It started at the base, slowly blowing out as it went, glass flying everywhere as the explosions continued up along the entirety of the structure. As it reached the top, Peter could see the force of the explosion knock someone (and the window) out. He didn't take more than a second to secure a line to his current spot on the building before leaping down after the person.

It had been Tony that had been slammed up against the window, and it was probably Tony plummeting eighty stories to a very bloody death if Peter didn't catch him. A delayed blast sent glass flying at Tony seconds before Peter swung forward, grabbing Tony and cradling the man protectively against his chest with one arm. With his free arm, Peter shot out a web to catch them and awkwardly swung his way to the Bronx, where the Avengers were.

Tony needed help; Peter could feel blood soaking through his suit wherever he and Tony made contact. He had no idea how badly the man was injured, just that the side of his face and a bit of his chest was a bloody mess from glass fragments. There was something wrong with his ribs, and god, what was wrong with his stomach?

Oh god, oh god, they needed a doctor. There was no way, without dropping Tony, that Peter could get to his comm and call Cap. He'd just have to pray that Tony would be okay until they could find someone to take care of him. They needed him too much to lose him, especially now that Osborn was gone.

~

_Stark Tower, New York City, NY November 19 th, 20xx_

_Night_

Deadpool carelessly picked through the wreckage of the Tower, looking for Osborn and anyone else who might still be alive. The explosion hadn't been that bad, just enough force and heat to destroy what held the majority of the Tower together. Stark had put the explosives together and told Deadpool exactly where to set them. Just like the Boss Man had said, the Tower had come down like a house of cards.

 

Now, though, Deadpool was going through the rubble and anyone who had survived the explosion was getting a bullet between the eyes. He had been hired to get rid of Osborn and his plague, and that meant everyone here was perfect game. Deadpool had yet to come across Osborn's body and he viciously hoped the man was still alive for him to kill.

 

It wasn't Osborn he found next, though, it was Cage. Cocking his gun, Deadpool pressed the barrel against Cage's forehead.

 

“Gimme a reason not to pull the trigger,” Deadpool said slowly.

 

Cage coughed, blood coloring his lips, his voice weak, “My daughter. Please, save her.”

 

Deadpool frowned, pulling his gun away as he looked down to the bundle held protectively against Cage's chest. “How'd she survive the fall?”

 

“D-dunno,” Cage coughed, eyes closed tight in pain.

 

Deadpool hesitated before leaning down and carefully picking her up, “Know where her mama is?”

 

“Avengers,” came the weak response.

 

Deadpool nodded, looking at the kid who stared back at him evenly, not even crying once. “Hunh,” he muttered.

 

He walked past Cage, ignoring the dying man, not caring any more except for seeing Osborn _dead_. It took another five minutes of kicking aside rubble and a few corpses until he found Osborn, pinned by a thick piece of concrete. He was coughing up blood as well, half crushed beneath the weight of the slab. Deadpool smirked, cocking his gun once more and pointing it at Osborn.

 

“You made me look like a fool in front of Fury,” Deadpool said, voice sugar-sweet with malice. “You cheated me out of my money.”

 

“ _Mercenary_ ,” came the choked hiss.

 

Deadpool grinned, “I don't like killing people. Most of the others have been mercy killings, or to make sure that they don't get in my way when dealing with you, but this? _This_ I'm going to _enjoy_. Shame it couldn't last longer.”

 

Osborn struggled, opening his mouth to snarl something putrid, and that's when Deadpool put three metal slugs in his head, his throat, and his chest...just to be on the safe side. Don't want the damned devil coming back to life on him.

 

He did look up, scowling at the sky, “I am _not_ dragging _that_ one outta hell, so you can bite my scabby behind!”

 

The baby made a cheerful gurgling sound at Deadpool and the man sighed, holstering his gun on his hip and holding the baby up to inspect her. “C'mon, let's go wait for Boss Man to pay us and tell us what to do with _you_.”

 

The baby laughed.

 

~

_Avengers Headquarters, Bronx, NY November 20 th, 20xx_

_12:30am_

“Cap!” Peter shouted, swinging in through the illusionary wall and sliding across the floor on his knees. “CAP! _Someone_! Help!”

“Peter?” Cap asked, coming into the entrance with a frown, Bucky and some blond guy following behind him. “What the hell-- Oh my god. Is that...?”

Peter reached up and grabbed his mask, pulling it off, “Cap, he needs help. He's hurt bad, bleeding everywhere!”

The blond limped over, leaning heavily on his walking stick before kneeling next to Peter, examining Tony. “Tempted to just leave him,” the man muttered.

“Don,” Cap said, a warning note in his voice. “Now's not the time.”

Don sighed and nodded, “I know you have a rudimentary medical facility here, Steve. Can you show me?”

Cap nodded, “Of course. Peter, are you all right? Bucky or I could take him if you need us to.”

Peter tightened his hold on Tony's limp body, “N-no, I've got it, Cap. I... I need to do this.”

Cap nodded, frowning slightly as he led the way to the infirmary. Peter gently set Tony on one of the gurneys, trying not to jar the man too much. His costume was saturated with blood but he couldn't take it off, not until he knew Tony was going to be okay.

Cap reached out, an odd look on his face as he touched the fabric over the wound. “This is mine...” he murmured.

“The shirt?” Bucky asked, grabbing things that the other man would obviously need. “How can you tell?”

Don gave Cap a bland look as he begun cutting the shirt off Tony's chest, “Big guy's gonna want a word with you later, Steve.”

“Whatever Thor wants,” Steve said, stepping out of Don's way, grabbing Peter and pulling him with him. “Bucky?”

“I can help,” Bucky said, looking up at Steve. “I've done this before, you know. Done it for _you_ , even.”

Cap smiled a little and nodded before tugging Peter out into the hall with him. “Tell me what happened,” he said, leaning against the wall.

Peter took a deep breath and started from when he left New York as he followed Luke, to Baltimore and the Helicarrier, to coming back to New York and the incident at the Tower. Through it all, Cap held himself still, shoulders tense and jaw clenched tight.

“Is Osborn alive?” Cap asked after Peter had finished.

“Can't imagine how, but then again, this is Osborn we're talking about here,” Peter said bitterly.

Cap groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands. Peter had decided it was a nervous, frustrated habit, though he'd never seen Cap do it until he'd come back, but then, he hadn't been nervous or frustrated during the War or when he was leading the New Avengers. “We'll get some people out there, make sure he's dead.”

“Cap...?” Peter asked anxiously. “Do...d'you think he's gonna be all right? Tony, I mean.”

Cap spared a glance at the room where Don and Bucky were working on him. “No way to know for sure,” he said finally, after a lengthy pause. “It's Tony, though, so he's fighting. No matter what, Tony's a fighter.”

“I heard what Ms Potts said, Cap,” Peter said flatly.

“Yeah, you and the rest of the Avengers,” Cap muttered, sighing.

“He's gonna die anyway,” Peter said, voice tight with anxiety. “That's what she said, Ms Potts, I mean. How can we stop that? How can he fight that?”

Cap turned away, “Have faith, Peter. It's all we can do right now.”

Peter nodded, looking down at his bloody costume and feeling his stomach start to rebel. Running to the closet bathroom, Peter fell to his knees and emptied his stomach into the toilet, half sobbing as he retched.

Tony _had_ to be okay. He was an Avenger. The Avengers always won, always came away with the victory. He had to be okay, he just had to...

~

_November 20 th, 20xx_

_Late last night, Stark Tower was the latest target by the unknown terrorist. Between the hours of 11 and 11:30, the Tower was the scene of explosion after explosion with glass falling everywhere. Several pedestrians were admitted to local ERs with wounds from falling glass. So far there have been ten confirmed deaths: Norman Osborn, leader of H.A.M.M.E.R.; Luke Cage, a former Avenger and current fugitive from the Super Human Registration Act; and other H.A.M.M.E.R. personnel._

_We have an eye witness who claims she saw a man fall from the top story to be caught by Spider-Man before being whisked away. Is it possible that these terrorist actions could be linked to the underground Super Human movement? Was that man Tony Stark, who had last been seen as he was taken into custody by H.A.M.M.E.R. two nights ago? Tune in at 6 tonight to find out more._

 

~

_Avengers Headquarters, Bronx, NY November 20 th, 20xx_

_6:30am_

 

It had taken an hour and a half to calm Peter down enough to get his costume off, and then another hour  before the younger man had relaxed enough to get some sleep. Steve was pacing the length of the living room as Clint channel surfed from his spot on the couch, both of them waiting for word on Tony's condition in their own way.

 

“He'll be fine,” Clint said for the fifth time in the past thirty minutes. Somewhere around one am it had become a mantra between the two of them; if they said it enough times, believed in it hard enough, it would come true. “It's Tony. He's always fine.”

 

Steve sat down at the other end of the couch and scrubbed his face with his hands, “Yeah, you're right. He'll be fine. He's got the devil's luck.”

 

“Maybe that's how he lives through all this shit,” Clint suggested with forced cheerfulness. “He made a deal with the devil.”

 

Steve hesitated and looked over at Clint, “What happens when the devil comes to collect?”

 

“He'll have to go through us first,” came the grim answer. “No one fucks with my family.”

 

“Our family's a little bit of an imploded disaster,” Steve said ruefully. “You know, when this is over –  all of it, I mean – we should get all the Avengers together again. We could have a cookout or something, just get everyone under one roof so that we can all be together again.”

 

Clint was quiet for a moment and then nodded, “I want things to go back to being simple now. Osborn's dead and after everything that's just happened, there's no way they can keep the Registration Act going. The two people the government's put in charge have fucked up beyond all reasonable belief. How can anyone support something so flawed?”

 

Steve watched the television for a moment before slouching a little, “The waiting is what gets to me.”

 

Clint made a vague noise of agreement and fiddled with the remote, “You know, we should contact Rhodes and let him know what's going on with Tony.”

 

“What makes you think he doesn't already know?” Steve frowned. “Last I remember, Tony and Rhodes were on the same side. Didn't Tony put Rhodes in charge of that Initiative thing?”

 

Clint was spared from answering as Don came into the living room, looking grim, his shirt stained almost black with blood. Steve took one look at Don's face and instantly did not want to hear what he had to say. Neither Clint nor Steve said anything, both bracing themselves for the worst.

 

“You want the simple version or the detailed version?” Don asked as he walked over to them, standing so he wouldn't get blood on the furniture.

 

“Are we going to want the gritty details?” asked Clint as he got up, running a hand through his hair and picking up from where Steve had left off pacing.

 

“Short and simple,” Steve said slowly. “Don't make me stop you to ask for a translation.”

 

Don nodded and slid his hands into his pockets. “The stab wound wasn't deep enough to harm any organs, but it did require several stitches. The left side of his face is going to scar badly from the shrapnel and heat of the explosion, and his leg will have minimal scarring from the heat. There's some trauma to his head, probably a concussion from Mr Cage bringing him in, exacerbated by the explosion.”

 

“If that's it, what's been taking you almost six hours?” Clint demanded, scowling at Don.

 

Steve closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the back of the couch, “Because that's not the worst of it. I'm right, aren't I, Don?”

 

“Tony had three broken ribs, prior to the incident at the Tower,” Don began, “The concussive blast from the Tower exploding, putting that sort of pressure on an already damaged torso, was not good. I'm very thankful that Tony doesn't have a flail chest, because without a hospital, he would die. Frankly, I'm surprised he lasted the two hours it took for Spider-Man to bring him here.”

 

“What's wrong?” Clint asked, sitting down next to Steve.

 

This was their family. Tony, for everything that had happened, was still a member of their family. You fight with family, hate them, rage at them, want nothing more than to get rid of them at times, but the other times are the ones where you embrace family, love them, laugh with them, cry with them. While the Avengers might not be blood related, they were a family in every sense of the word. A truer family there could never be. No matter how angry Don and Thor, Steve, or Clint were with Tony, they would do whatever they humanly could to save him.

 

“His clavicle and sternum are fractured,” Don said simply. “The clavicle's nothing to worry over, but the sternal fracture is. The force cracked the bone and put pressure on his heart and lungs. His bronchi are badly bruised, so we have him on a respirator right now, and his heart almost gave out on us. I'll check later on how he's breathing, but right now, it's touchy.”

 

“How touchy is touchy?” Steve asked, looking at Don as he spoke. He needed to know.

 

“Touchy as in I'm not sure how he's alive,” Don said blandly. “But he is, and will mend in time if he wakes up. Ms Drew filled me in on his situation, Steve. If Extremis was functional, we wouldn't have to worry, but it seems that that is no longer an option.”

 

Clint nodded, “The Skrulls fried him and every piece of tech he'd been plugged into. It wasn't pretty to watch when it happened.”

 

Steve frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, “Don, what do you mean if he wakes up? Why if?”

 

“It's complicated, Steve,” Don said as he shook his head, leaning against the wall and shifting his weight off his bad leg. “Telling you all the different ways this could go from bad to worse won't do anything productive.”

 

“Now what?” Steve asked, tired.

 

“Now it's up to Tony,” Don said, amused. “The man does not know the meaning of giving up. He'll be fine.”

 

“Hurry up and wait, hunh?” Clint said, standing and stretching. “Who wants a beer?”

 

~

_Avengers Headquarters, Bronx, NY November 24 th, 20xx_

_Medical Bay_

 

Since Osborn had died, major crime had ceased to exist, everyone holding their collective breaths to see which way the world would jump. There really wasn't much for Steve, or any of the Avengers to do, but to wait. Steve spent most of his time at Tony's bedside, holding his hand and waiting for him to wake up. If Steve had to leave, he made sure that Clint, Don or Thor, or Peter were there to take his place. Some part of him didn't want to leave Tony alone for long, suspicious that the moment they did that Tony would wake up, alone, and run.

 

Steve couldn't count the number of hours he'd spent by Tony's bedside over the decade of their friendship, and he didn't think he wanted to. It was a disturbing enough trend that thinking about it directly caused a leaden lump to form in the back of his throat, making it hard to swallow.

 

This might be the last time. The last time he saw Tony, the last time he spent at his bedside...the last time he saw the other man with some semblance of life. There was the rise and fall of his chest, the slightly parted lips allowing air to fill his lungs, the little twitch of Tony's fingers against the softness of the blanket or against Steve's hand; all these things that showed Steve that Tony was alive. But for how much longer?

 

How much longer before the coma became permanent as Extremis fully deleted everything that made Tony who he was? Five days from when he triggered it, Pepper had said. Their five days were almost up. Steve gently took Tony's hand in his, running his thumb along Tony's knuckles and ignored the twitches that caused hope to uncurl inside his heart. They were involuntary movements, after all, not signs that Tony was waking up. It was probably the most heartbreaking symptom of this whole miserable disaster.

 

~

_Avengers Headquarters, Bronx, NY November 25 th, 20xx_

_Thanksgiving_

_Medical Bay, 9am_

Tony opened his eyes with a soft moan, feeling as if his body was completely disconnected from his brain as he floated in a cloud of numbness and half-dulled sensation. What he could feel let him know that half his face was covered in bandages and that his right side was all one big ache. Looking down at his arms, he could see that there was an IV in one arm and leads and lines hooked to every possible inch of him.

His worst nightmare had come true – he was drugged and being held prisoner. Had the charges not blown correctly? Had Deadpool been compromised? Whatever had happened, he needed to get out of here. Who knew if Osborn had managed to even get whatever information Tony still had lurking in his gray matter? He could feel the timer in his head counting down; he had less than a day to get as far away as possible, or Osborn would be able to recover the information from his corpse. His brain had been turned into a bio-drive, courtesy of Extremis, and even once he was dead, there was an eight-hour window before the drive degraded where anyone could try and reverse the over-write and recover everything.

He had to get out of here.

He slowly slid out of the bed, biting his lip to keep from groaning in pain as he reached out with Extremis and shut down the machines before pulling the wires off of him. Fuck, that hurt. Note to self: Don't use Extremis anymore. He was pushing his luck as it was. He grabbed a change of clothes that had been lying next to the bed (they looked almost like a spare set of Steve's work out clothes) and pulled them on, warily listening for any and all noises that might mean someone was coming. He found a pair of shoes that would work and stuffed his feet into them before creeping out the door.

The hallway looked familiar, terribly familiar. With less than twelve hours before his entire brain shut down, his memory recall was suffering and he had no idea where he knew the hallway from. Picking a direction, Tony made sure to stick to the walls, slowly checking around each corner before advancing. His leg hurt, the skin feeling too tight and hot, but he did his best to stay quiet and unnoticed.

Someone shouted wordlessly not too far from where Tony was and he stopped, panicked. He pressed flat against the wall, eyes closed, praying he wasn't about to be found.

“ _Dammit_!” the person shouted again, this time the sound of flesh impacting a punching bag accompanied the curse.

Frowning, Tony crept closer, swearing his ears were lying to him. For a moment, it had almost sounded like Steve...

The Steve-voice shouted wordlessly once more, and this time, Tony was close enough to see it as the tall, built man punched right through the bag.

His heart jumped into his throat and Tony stood there, rooted to the floor, emotions roiling through him. It _was_ Steve; Steve was _alive_. The man was punching the bag erratically, forcefully, uncaring of the plastic pellets that scattered across the floor with each punch. His back was to Tony, but every now and then he caught a glimpse of his face and... was Steve crying? Tony watched as Steve sat where he stood, hands hanging limp between his legs with his chin to his chest. The misery rolled off him so thick that Tony could taste it.

When had Steve...? Had he always been alive? Had his whole death just been some elaborate ruse? What had happened?

Swift on the heels of those thoughts: Steve was alive, and Tony was a domestic terrorist. He had thrown away all his morals, everything he had believed in, that the Avengers believed in, and had done so willingly. There was no way that this was going to end well, not with Steve being the paragon of virtue, sticking to that outdated Chivalry crap. But, if Steve was here, and Tony was here...then where the hell was he? He couldn't remember anything past getting stabbed by Osborn.

“CAP!” someone shouted, running into the room. Tony cursed softly under his breath and flattened himself against the wall, trying not to be seen. “Cap! Tony's gone!”

It was Peter. Why did Peter sound so panicked? Peter hated him.

Steve looked up sharply, rubbing at his face with his arm as he stood, “What? What do you _mean_ gone?

Tony had only heard that icy tone on Steve when the man was flat out furious. It was the voice Steve had used on him during the War, when he called him a _pampered punk_. God, he didn't think he'd ever heard anything that hurt as much as that had. Nothing his father had pulled on him as a kid, nothing his Board had sneered at him... He'd respected Steve, _loved_ him, and Steve clearly hadn't felt the same.

 

Had he _lied_ when he said he loved him? Was that what Sharon's baby was all about? Finding out that Sharon had been pregnant had just about killed him, and a selfish part of him had been desperately overjoyed when she'd lost it, but... When had it happened? Had Steve been fucking her behind his back, him completely content to ignore anything outside of the simple fact that Steve had loved him? It wouldn't be the first time someone he loved had betrayed him like that, but it would be the last.

 

How long had Steve hated him? When they'd been sleeping together? Sometime between when Steve had all but begged him to form the New Avengers team with him and when Yinsen's son had taken over his mind? All of these thoughts swimming around his head made him want to scream with frustration and anger.

“I mean,” Peter said, tugging on his hair with on hand, “that he's gone. The machines were turned off, clothes missing, he's _gone_. Clint came to get me and when I got there, he was gone! There was like, maybe ten minutes where no one was there, but!”

“God, Tony,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I needed to talk to him. Needed to, I don't know, needed to do _something_. Explain or – we needed to talk.”

“Maybe we can still grab him, before he gets too far?” Peter asked.

Tony had always regretted that he'd betrayed Peter's trust in him as badly as he had, almost more than he regretted what had happened between him and Steve. If he stayed here, though, he was going to get caught, and he needed to leave. It didn't matter how much he wanted to stay, to try and fix what he had done, he needed to get out of here before the final programming kicked in and killed him. Steve and Peter shouldn't have to see that, no one should have to see what was going to come next.

If he was at Steve's, then the quickest way out of here from where he was right now was out the back. They'd know he'd left the building when the alarm went off, but he knew how to hot wire a car and he'd be gone before they could figure out which alarm had sounded. Or, well, so he hoped. The door was heavy and he popped his stitches just as the door opened. Sweating and cursing in pain, Tony stumbled to the closest car, hand wrapped around his midsection, and glared at it: automatic locks.

“Fuck you very much, Universe,” Tony growled, looking around and spotting a rock. He grabbed it and used it to shatter the window, popping the lock as the car's alarm wailed. He opened the door, brushing the glass off the seat and onto the street as he popped the wire box and pulled out what he needed. He hadn't done this in years, but fancy that, it was just like riding a bike... He had the car up and running just as the door was shoved open and Steve came out, shield in hand.

“Tony!” he shouted, taking a step toward him.

Tony looked over at him, trying to memorize his face. He'd never see him again, not in this lifetime, and fuck did that idea hurt. Despite everything, he still loved the asshole. Closing his eyes, Tony put the car in gear and peeled out, driving as fast as he could. He'd been out five days, and he'd triggered the final protocols just as he'd been made to kneel down in front of Osborn. That meant Deadpool may or may not still be waiting for him at the Mansion. It was a chance, and one he had to take; Deadpool had his bag, and he needed it. Just in case.

He ditched the car two blocks from the Mansion and quickly walked the rest of the way, sliding in through the broken wall behind the house. Deadpool should be in the garden, near the statues, with his duffel bag — and there he was, with a baby.

“Hey, Boss Man!” Deadpool greeted, waving the hand that wasn't holding the kid.

“Is that Danielle?” Tony asked, coming closer and squatting down next to him to peer at the baby girl.

“Uh, maybe? It's Cage's daughter,” Deadpool said. “He protected her as it blew, so she's okay.”

“She was inside with us,” Tony whispered, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Dammit, I almost killed a kid.”

“You didn't pull the trigger,” Deadpool pointed out.

“No, I only told you where to place the charges and how to get in,” Tony snapped. “It doesn't matter. I need you to return her to her mother.”

“Where? At the Babies Lost and Found?” Deadpool groused.

Tony tugged open his bag and pulled out a notebook, writing down Cap's address and the account number for Deadpool's money. “This is the address you need to go to,” Tony said, ripping it out of his notebook and handing it to Deadpool. “Under that address is the account number where your money is waiting. You'll need to go there in person, but ask for Maurice and he'll make sure everything is set up for you.”

 

“Who's at the address?” Deadpool asked, shifting his grip on the baby girl.

“Captain America. Just tell him I sent you,” Tony said, tired.

“Yeah, all right,” Deadpool said, standing. “Look, Stark...you're not that bad.”

Tony snorted, grinning, “Thanks, Deadpool. Why don't you get that kid to her mom? Jess's been worried sick over her for the past three months.”

Deadpool examined the piece of paper Tony had handed him before tucking it into one of the pouches on his person and leaving. Tony waited until he was sure he was gone before pulling out a pair of jeans, sneakers, one of Steve's old shirts, and a baseball hat. He quickly stripped out of his stolen clothing and pulled his own, examining his wounds as he did. Goddamn but he was a colorful mess. So much for leaving a pretty looking corpse.

He looked up at the Mansion, seeing it as it had been when he'd been a boy – distant, foreboding, _hell_ – and what it had been until two years ago – home, safe, enjoyable, _wonderful_... Two so totally separate memories, both destroyed. Yet, still it went on, a wearied war horse, refusing to die while the world around it clamored for it to give up. Tony had jumped through many expensive hoops to have the area declared as a landmark, for the obvious reasons, but also for the not so obvious: this was the one place in the entire City that had seen him as his worst and at his best.

And now it would be there to see him at his last.

Well, almost his last. He needed to get out of the city. The moment Deadpool showed up at Cap's, they'd know where Tony was, and they'd do something. He used to know them well enough to say who would do what, but now? Now he didn't even know the man he'd thought he'd known as well as he possibly could know about another human being. If he didn't know Steve, _his_ Steve, then how could he know anyone? The Avengers had seen the car he had hijacked and they would be looking for _that_ car. The obvious next step in his life of crime would be to steal another car and get the hell out of dodge.

 

It didn't take long before he found some moron who had left his car idling as he ran in to grab his food from a corner deli, and it was a few seconds work of closing the door and hitting the gas before he was on his way out of New York City, out of New York state, out of the Tri-State Area.

And so the hero drove off into the sunset, or something along those lines. Tony Stark was far from a hero now, and he was hardly driving off into the sunset to live happily ever after. Instead, he was running with his tail between his legs to some dark corner of the country to curl up and die alone, miserable, instead of among what had once been his friends and his _family_.

What did it matter now, anyway? He would be as good as dead in eight hours. No one would be able to find him before the final programming took place, and that's exactly how he wanted it.

He only wished he'd been able to say good-bye.

~

_Avengers Headquarters, Bronx, NY November 25 th, 20xx_

 

“We should find him!” Peter shouted, scowling angrily at everyone. “He's our team mate, if not our friend!”

 

Steve sat at the kitchen table, holding a mug of coffee and watching as Peter, Hank, and Clint argued over finding Tony. The others occasionally chimed in their opinions, but those three were the loudest protesters. He'd called Pepper and asked her what Tony's chances were, if there was any way Tony might have made a mistake. Pepper had flatly told him that the moment Tony triggered it, he had five days to the minute he triggered. Assuming Tony had initiated the sequence the moment Luke or Norman had gotten his hands on him...he had three hours, max. He saw no point in arguing about it, not with such a small time frame.

 

Everyone knew the time frame, and while the others were adamant they not even bother, Peter was desperate to save Tony. Steve didn't understand his reasoning, only that after Peter had brought Tony to them, the other man had been shell-shocked at the amount of blood – Tony's blood – soaked into his costume. Perhaps it was that, or a misplaced sense of guilt; Steve honestly couldn't care less.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, sitting next to Steve. “You okay?”

 

Steve sighed, raising his hands and scrubbing his face with them. “I don't know. Part of me wants nothing more than to track the bastard down and shake some sense into him.”

 

“The other part?” Bucky asked, stealing Steve's coffee and bastardizing it with milk and half a bowl of sugar.

 

“The other part wants to pray for him and hope that he messed up somehow and is alive.”

 

Bucky nodded and sipped his stolen coffee, “Don't blame you. I wanted to throttle you for being a dumb ass when you got shot. I think it's part of having friends die on you.”

 

Steve was silent; friends, yeah...they had been so much more than friends not too long ago. He was trying so hard to keep those memories free of the taint of what their current relationship was like, but the bitterness was spreading, coloring everything in a sad, dejected light. It was a part of his life that was about to end forever, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. Happy? Thankful? Devastated? Hurt? Angry? Sad? The most confusing thing was he was feeling all of them, all at the same time. Trust Tony to be the one to constantly rip out more emotions than necessary, even when he wasn't there.

 

“Hey, guys?” Bobbi called out, startled. “Deadpool's trying to figure out how to get in here.”

 

Peter whirled around, “Let him in! He was with Tony!”

 

“What?” Hank asked, startled. “You're telling me--”

 

“He was the other guy who was following Luke with me. I...I didn't think to stop him and ask,” Peter said, obviously ashamed of himself. MJ wrapped a comforting arm around her husband's shoulders. “But he was with Tony, helping him. Who else could have set the charges and not get caught?”

 

“He's holding a baby,” Bobbi added.

 

“Let him in,” Steve said, standing.

 

Bobbi stepped through the wall and grabbed Deadpool by the belt, careful not to jostle the baby, and pulled him into the room.

 

Deadpool was looking around, grinning. “Do you have any idea how _awesome_ that is?”

 

“Oh my god, _Danielle_!” Jessica Jones cried, rushing forward to take her baby from Deadpool. He let go of the child easily (scarily careful, as if he knew how to handle babies), and handed over a baby bag. Jessica let the bag fall to the floor, holding her baby and crying over her.

 

“How...?” Peter asked, eyes wide.

 

“She was in the Tower when it blew. Ozzie was holding her baby hostage,” Deadpool said with a shrug. “Tiara boy protected her and when I was shifting through the rubble, I found her.”

 

“That was almost a week ago,” Steve frowned. “Why did you wait so long?”

 

“Stark told me this was the Baby Lost and Found when Sugar Daddy came to pay me. Snatched the baby bag in the park, so she's been fed and all,” Deadpool said. “So, baby delivered, I have my money, time to go say hi to my other Sugar Daddy.”

 

“I thought Cable was gone?” Peter frowned.

 

“Sphincter says _what_?” Deadpool asked, whirling around to stare angrily at Peter.

 

“You and Cable, weren't you together or something?” Peter said awkwardly. “I mean, you were always out there helping him and...”

 

“ _We got a divorce_ ,” Deadpool growled darkly.

 

“Oh,” Peter said, shying away from Deadpool and hiding behind MJ.

 

“Thank you for taking care of Danielle,” Steve said, changing the subject. “Is there anything you want in return?”

 

“You know the best place to find Fury?” Deadpool asked. “Trying to find him is hell, and Stark wanted me to give him this drive thing.”

 

Steve stared at him, “Drive?”

 

Deadpool shrugged, “All of Ozzie's stuff is on it. System something or other to download the junk. It's for Fury, that's all he said.”

 

Bucky stood, grabbing a piece of paper and scribbling something on it before handing it over to Deadpool, “Contact this person and Fury will find you.”

 

Deadpool took it with a nod, “Got it. Be seeing you.” He turned and paused, “I just walk through the wall, no problems?”

 

Steve grinned, “No problems.”

 

“That is so cool,” Deadpool grinned, walking through the wall. He liked it so much he walked back and forth a couple more times until Clint had grabbed him and forcibly dragged him away from the building.

 

~

_Rt 107, outside Salem, MA November 25 th, 20xx_

_9:55pm_

“How the fuck did I end up on 107?” Tony growled, stabbing at the radio stations in annoyance. He'd been driving out of the city, on through Connecticut and Rhode Island and finally into Massachusetts. He'd been aiming for Cambridge, but he'd gotten turned around somewhere.

Of course, his wrong turn could be blamed on the stabbing migraine he was trying to work through. It was rather pointless, what he was trying to do. His fate was sealed, so why he was running to the last place he'd been happy, outside of Steve's arms? Dammit, he really should just pull over and wait this out somewhere. Then again, how did one pick a place to die?

The opening of Bon Jovi's “Wanted Dead or Alive” began to play from the radio and Tony barked out a hollow sounding laugh. Right, well, that was an appropriate song, all things considered. He drove past a sign announcing he was approaching the Old Salem Jail house, where Giles Corey had been pressed to death during the Trials, right as the clock ticked to 9:58.

The migraine flared, a million needles stabbing at the base of his skull, through his eyes, everywhere... Tony groaned, pressing a hand to his head, trying to press the pain out and laughing breathlessly. Here he was, at the end, and he was terrified of dying.

There was nothing waiting for him anymore. Steve was alive... He was dying alone and...

Tony Stark blacked out at 9:59pm, crashing his stolen car into an oak tree three feet from the Old Salem Jail.


End file.
